


i ponder of something great

by orphan_account



Series: i ponder of something great [1]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Anxiety, Dissociation, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Songfic, mentions of death/murder, no actual death/murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-14 03:22:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5727811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With a tendency to be swallowed in his thoughts, Dan is lonely and scared of himself. Reached out to by someone he had recently dreamt about quite vividly, Dan’s not sure he can live with the silence. </p><p>Or, a songfic based on "Car Radio" by Twenty One Pilots and some of my personal experience.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i ponder of something great

**Author's Note:**

> yes, a songfic of some sorts. i’m actually so proud of this idea and it's heavy, really fucking heavy – a lot of underlying meaning. but it’s worth it, though i would advise you not to read it if you are easily triggered by self-hate and/or anxiety attacks. also please listen to car radio before/during reading this, the lyrics really dictate the story in a metaphorical way

_**I PONDER OF SOMETHING GREAT** _

__

Dan paid close attention to the way his chest rose and fell, varying the lengths of his breaths and holding the intake for a few seconds. Breathing exercises, on occasion, made some sort of difference in his anxious state. His eyes remained squeezed closed, one hand gripping the edge of his bed while the other harshly scraped against his reddened cheeks with the tear-dampened sleeve of his favorite sweatshirt. He took a ragged breath, trying to keep steady but wavering nonetheless. The tears had since stopped leaking, but Dan’s cheeks still burned.

A teacher’d yelled at him earlier because he’d zoned out in class. He also tripped going up the stairs. He was volunteered to answer a maths question on the front board and he couldn’t figure it out. He caught a pair of girls looking at him and then laughing. His closest friend was home sick, so he ate lunch surrounded by people who didn’t make any effort to talk to him. He accidentally shut his locker door on his finger.

Dan had gone through the day emotionless, every little incident swept to the back of his mind. _Make it another ten minutes, another hour, another day._ _Go home, sit in your room, do your homework, but stop halfway through because you realize you don’t know what you’re doing. Leave it for tomorrow morning._

One thing had caused Dan to spiral over the edge, to let each individual event today whittle a hole in his mind. He spilled the glass of water he was going to use to take his medication on the counter. While cleaning the mess, he forgot to take his pills.

And so, when he reached the threshold of his room he reached the threshold of his emotions. He buried his face into his pillow, crying as silently as he could manage in case his mum were to hear. The loudest noise to emit from the sobbing boy were his gasps for air.

After the tear spell, Dan’s skin felt clammy and his sweatshirt really needed to be washed. He stared at the ceiling until he eventually succumbed to sleep, a single stream of thought repeating in his trained, self-loathing mind.

_You’re an idiot, a loser, a nobody. You’re worthless, in the whole picture of the entire universe. No use in crying anymore; spilled tears are only toxic to your pillowcase. Everyone pretends to be nice to you, to care. Don’t you dare flatter yourself with anything otherwise._

* * *

Dan jammed these ideas into his head for months. He never told anyone – never said anything to suggest he wasn’t in a tip-top state of mind. Because of this, no one treated him any differently. His parents left him alone in his room at night, not even near imagining anything close to the truth of his locked-away sobbing. They just thought he liked to be alone (which wasn’t exactly false, though it wasn’t true either).

And one day, as Dan absentmindedly scribbled on a blank sheet of notebook paper while he was supposed to be note-taking, the boy behind him tapped on his shoulder.

“Hm, yeah?” Dan mumbled after visibly flinching, turning his head to peer over his shoulder.

Phil Lester sat behind him: a bright kid, a smart student, the kind of person that you can see the gears turning in their head. Dan knew Phil minimally, as he did nearly everyone else. They’d barely ever spoken before except for the occasional “Do you have the homework from last night? Can I copy it please?”. The fact that they were in the same history class was the beginning and end of their similarities, as far as Dan was concerned.

Dan wasn’t prepared when his eyes met Phil’s, their speckled colors only reminded him of what he had dreamt the night prior.

The strange thing, moreover, was that Phil had been a key character in Dan’s dream. In fact, Dan had killed him. Really, though, Dan didn’t kill him; he – a dream bystander, a helpless whisp of wind – watched as some form of himself killed the bright-eyed and bright-minded boy.

He’d awoken in sweat and shivers all the same. The blinking clock beside him had said 3 A.M., but he didn’t fall back asleep. He didn’t bother to try; instead, he sat up against the wall next to his bed, the blanket pulled up to his shoulders. His skin burned and his eyes itched; itched for him to rid them of the sight they had before seen. He sat, shaking and staring in into the dark until it wasn’t dark anymore. He honestly didn’t know why Phil’d been the face in his dream, or why he’d had the dream, or what it meant. He’d never had it before; he hoped to never have it again.

All morning he never stopped torturing himself over it; what had it meant? Did it mean nothing? Was it simply a fluke in the reasoning of reality, a feature abundant in the unconscious world? Why _Phil_? He possessed no answers to his array of questions.

So, Phil actually speaking to Dan in class was the last thing he wanted to happen.

“You, uh, dropped your pencil on the ground,” Phil stated, handing the object back to Dan. A flow of relief presented itself to Dan in the form of a cool rush down his spine.

“Thanks,” he murmured, tapping the base of the pencil against his desk before realizing the pencil wasn’t even his own.

* * *

Dan didn’t cry that night. For the first time in what felt like years, not a single tear spilled over onto his cheeks; although, Dan was sure he’d rather cry to this strange limbo.

He felt trapped, as if in a soundproof cube that had run out of air. He felt raw and he felt scared of himself. While he did not cry, his lungs still heaved and ached.

Questions swirled around his mind, the same few that had been repeated the whole day. The dream and thoughts of Phil had never left him alone, no matter how much he wished them away. It was just a goddamn _dream_ , nothing to psychoanalyze. Dan knew himself well enough to ensure that he had no murderous urges. It was a _dream_.

As he kept repeating this to himself, his phone buzzed from where it lied on his floor. He stared at it, frozen in place. His invisible box wouldn’t allow him to move.

He struggled to take a deep breath before nodding his head into his chest for a moment, telling himself that _it’s okay_ , he didn’t really murder someone, he never would, and he should just pick up his phone.

Eventually he managed to reach his phone on the floor. The screen lit up with a message from an unknown number.

To: Dan

From: Unknown

_– I know it wasn’t your pencil but I wanted to talk to you_

Of course it was Phil, Dan knew immediately.

Another message was received a few ticks later.

To: Dan

From: Phil

_– This is Phil by the way. Got your number from Peej_

He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how to respond like a normal human being; his judgement was skewed and yet he still found himself typing and hitting reply.

To: Phil

From: Dan

_– why do you want to talk to me_

Phil explained minutes later.

To: Dan

From: Phil

– _You’re interesting_

Dan scoffed at the message, not bothering to reply. He knew he wasn’t interesting in the slightest bit. From his brown hair and brown eyes to his uncanny ability to completely shut himself out of the world, Dan Howell could’ve won an award for “Least Interesting Person in the Entire World.”

To: Dan

From: Phil

– _Sorry if I’m bothering you, maybe we can actually talk in person tomorrow_

 _Maybe not_ , Dan wanted to say. He didn’t.

To: Phil

From: Dan

_– okay_

* * *

That was the beginning of Phil, anyway. Short, sweet, innocent text messages with the single intention of getting Dan’s attention. It took a few weeks for Dan to actually put any efforts into his responses, but Phil was persistent. It’s just, whenever Dan saw Phil’s name light up his phone screen, all his thoughts were inclusive to his horrifying dream.

Even after weeks had passed, the details of the nightmare stayed. They clung around in the crevices and dark corners of Dan’s mind, emerging back at the surface with each subtle prompt. Dan tried to force the memories away each time – repeatedly locking them in a case and throwing them into the void – but they persisted, creeping through the edges of Dan’s every word.

When the two spoke in person, Dan tried to smile. He really did. Mostly, he attempted to remain “normal” and friendly. Phil bought into it, apparently, because he continued on his spontaneous escapade – “I want to learn more about this _Dan_ and who he is,” Phil’d once said. Dan wanted to scream that he wasn’t worth the time.

Dan found it difficult to speak to Phil without stray images of impending doom he had caused all those dreams ago slinking into his mind, but there was nothing much he could do about it. For whatever reason, Phil had set his sights on Dan and whether Dan liked it or not, he stuck around.

And maybe that one time Phil asked if he were annoying Dan at all and Dan replied with a stern, “No, you’re not bothering me,” he wasn’t lying. Maybe. And that other time when Phil offered to leave Dan alone because he seemed like he wanted to be that way and Dan grabbed the arm of Phil’s jumper and told him, “No, I want you to stay,” he probably wasn’t lying, either.

Naturally, Dan couldn’t help but doubt Phil’s intentions; this was some sort of joke. It had to be. Did Phil get together with PJ one day and say, “Hey, wouldn’t it be great if we totally fucked up this guy’s life”? To anyone with a secure sense of mind, this would be an absurd subject. Luckily for Dan, he wasn’t anyone with a secure sense of mind. The possibilities for abandonment or even betrayal were endless, though Dan figured he couldn’t be betrayed when no one really stood on his side.

But Phil did. Or he tried to. Or he lied. Any way, Dan cautiously succumbed to Phil’s carefully portrayed affection. The little details ultimately led to what Dan would call his downfall, such as the way Phil’s eyes always flickered momentarily to Dan’s cheeks when they first saw each other in the morning, or the gentle graze of Phil’s fingertips on Dan’s hip when they walked alongside each other in the crowded hallway, or the act of Phil’s tongue flicking swiftly out of the corner of his mouth each time he laughed.

Amidst all the times Dan yelled at himself that _this isn’t really real; why lie to yourself; Phil definitely doesn’t care about Dan_ fucking _Howell, and why should he?_ there was always the imposed question: _But what if he does?_

* * *

Dan mastered an art. He mastered the art of making someone feel like they knew everything about him when, in reality, if they’d looked a little harder, they would realize they didn’t have a clue. Of course, this someone was Phil. He’d volunteered himself, anyway; Dan didn’t have a choice but to practice this with Phil.

He took Phil’s tendency to relish the small details to his advantage. Phil could tell a whole entire story about his brother and if, in response, Dan would say that he had a brother too, Phil would feel like he’d just gained a world of knowledge. Dan wouldn’t even have to say his name.

Certainly, Dan would keep his mental state and his dream to himself. And at night, after Phil had gone to sleep, these burdens tore their way through Dan’s skin and bones, electrifying his veins and lungs. Feeling as if boiling from the inside, he feverishly scratched at his chest in a blind frenzy, trying to get his lungs out so they could _breathe._ All he got out of that were scarlet lines draped across the pale skin.

Regardless of how much Dan told himself that he didn’t give a damn about Phil, he knew he was lying to himself. Maybe Phil didn’t know much about Dan and his ritual crying spells, but whose fault was that? And late one night when Phil asked Dan if he could sleep over because his parents were fighting and he didn’t feel comfortable at home, Dan should’ve said no. He would’ve said no if he really wanted to follow his unattached plan. Alas, he really didn’t. Phil had infiltrated into Dan’s life and Dan’s anxiety didn’t know how to handle it with anything other than quick flashes of Dan taking Phil’s life. It scared Dan significantly less than it should’ve that he’d become numb to the phantasms. Perhaps it was a repressed reaction; perhaps he wasn’t really indifferent.

Anyway, he didn’t say no. So, Phil knocked on the door just after midnight when he’d arrived, and Dan hurried to greet him before one of his parents could wake up and answer the door. Phil’d come already clad in pyjamas, so Dan didn’t feel awkward in his insanely old jumper and sweatpants. Dan’s parents were asleep, naturally, so Dan was sure to inform Phil to keep his voice down. He then led the visitor to his bedroom.

“Thanks for letting me stay over, Dan,” Phil murmured as he scanned over Dan’s room for the first time. Dan nodded in response, pulling his sleeves over his hands.

Immediately, Phil found something of his interest on Dan’s dresser.

“You never told me you’re an actor,” he smiled, holding a small printed picture of Dan in costume.

“I was in a play when I was, like, seven. I didn’t do anymore after that.”

“Really? Why’d you quit?” Phil turned to face Dan, who’d taken a seat on the corner of his bed. “If you don’t mind me asking, anyway.”

“I don’t know. Lost interest,” Dan lied in response, picking at his fingernails in attempt to release some of the tension built up in his chest.

“Hm,” Phil took a seat next to Dan on the bed. “I used to draw a lot when I was younger. It was really bad, so.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.” Dan knew that the more he prompted Phil to talk, the less he’d have to.

“ _Terrible_.” Phil laughed, Dan automatically cracking a manufactured smile when Phil looked towards him.

Phil eventually stood back up and inquired about more things around the room, Dan crafting the most bleak answers possible. In the silence between Phil’s questions, Dan asked himself why he tried so hard to refrain from Phil. Why couldn’t he overpower the electricity in his lungs; why did he burden himself with all of this, all the time? Right, because no one else really cares. No one else really _wants_ to know. Except, maybe Phil _does_.

“What’s this?” Phil tore Dan from his thoughts, gesturing at a glass cube with small elephant patterns in the middle sitting upon a pedestal.

“It’s a light,” Dan answered, standing and walking over to Phil. “Kind of lame, I know.” He tried to play cool when honestly his entire body felt like it was melting.

“Can we turn it on?” Phil eyed the light again.

“I mean, if you want to. Sure. We have to turn off–” Dan looked up at the light on his ceiling.

Phil reached over to the switch on the wall, flicking it off. The room turned pitch black, and Phil let out a little giggle, “I suppose we should turn the other one on first.”

Dan shocked himself as he laughed alongside Phil without forcing himself. In fact, he surprised himself so much that when Phil turned the light back on, Dan forgot what he was doing and stared at Phil with blank eyes.

“Hey, are you okay?” Phil noticed immediately, his smile dropping in the light.

Dan blinked slowly, breaking eye contact. “Uh, yeah. I’m fine.”

“You can tell me if something’s wrong,” Phil ensured, and at the moment when Dan lifted his eyes to meet Phil’s again, Dan could see the actual _concern_ in Phil’s look. He felt a cool rush over himself; his jaw dropped. _He cares, he really, actually does._

“Nothing’s wrong.” Dan swallowed, his sight rapidly switching from one of Phil’s eyes to the other. “For once, there’s something right.”

He regretted speaking out about it instantly afterwards, directing his line of sight to the light of initial concern rather than meeting Phil’s gaze.

“Wha–”

“Forget it,” Dan interrupted, clicking a button on the pedestal of the light. “You can turn that one off now.”

Phil did as he was told, though his gaze lingered towards Dan. As soon as the light flicked off, the room portrayed a light shade of green. The small light cast a design on the ceiling, the color of the light slowly merging from one to another.

Phil’s eyes fixated on the small glass cube, “This is so cool.”

“I’ve had it since I was little. I forgot about it, to be honest.” Dan rubbed his hands together, looking down at them even though he could only faintly see them.

“I like it.” Phil walked back from where he stood and sat on the bed again, peering up at the ceiling.

“It’s really nothing special.” Dan followed Phil to sit on his bed.

Phil just shook his head. Then, he looked back over his shoulder at the bed he sat on. “Do you want me to sleep on the floor?”

“No– You can sleep in the bed.” Dan bit the inside of his cheek. “I’ll take the floor.”

“You don’t have to do that.” Phil met Dan’s gaze and Dan knew they were both thinking the same thing – _we can sleep in the same bed, idiot_ – but neither of them would say it.

“I’m a restless sleeper,” Dan excused himself, “Kicking and all that stuff.”

“That’s okay.”

Thus, they came to a nonverbal but still mutual agreement to share the bed, both crawling under the covers. Dan overcompensated for staying on his side of the bed and nearly fell off, but luckily, Phil didn’t notice. Or he pretended not to, anyway.

The pair lied still, quiet in the dimly lit room. Dan didn’t dare shift until he was positive Phil had fallen asleep, but he never really could decide. In books people always said that “their breathing leveled”, but it’s extremely hard to tell how someone’s breathing, Dan realized, unless you’re right up in their face. He couldn’t get any closer to Phil without inevitably breaking a sweat.

With all the talk of breathing, Dan hadn’t even realized that his was heaving. He promptly attempted to ease his breathing to a more normal rate, but he supposed this was routine for his body. Dan didn’t want Phil concerned, however, so he bit down on his lip and stared up at the soft lighting on the ceiling.

He fluttered his eyes closed and began breathing exercises, trying to take lead of the situation. His anxiety couldn’t win this time. He had to hold onto the ropes, consciously control every aspect. It paid off when he managed to lull himself to sleep without any remarks from Phil, who (in all fairness) had probably fallen asleep a long time prior.

* * *

After Dan had established that Phil really did care about him, he began to force himself to tell Phil things. He wanted to win this battle and maybe Phil was the beacon to help him out.

Phil began to sleep over a lot more – “My parents are going through some sort of funk right now. They don’t even notice when I leave.” – and in response, Dan began to let Phil in on more and more each time.

The second night Phil slept over was the hardest. Dan decided it was like a staircase that starts halfway up the wall so that you have to leap to get to the first step.

Phil’d probably already been half asleep by the time Dan worked up the courage to say anything. The room was completely pitch black this time, and Dan blankly stared at the ceiling as he carefully composed what exactly he was going to say.

“Phil?” Dan subsequently whispered out into the dark, hearing the boy beside him roll over at the calling of his name.

“Yeah? Everything okay?” his voice confirmed Dan’s theory that he was probably just about to sleep already, but since he had already been woken, Dan took the leap.

“I need to tell you something.”

“I’m all ears,” Phil replied. “Okay, not literally. I’m not made of ears.”

“Shh,” Dan couldn’t help but smile at Phil’s lame joke.

“Okay, yes, I’m ready. What’s up?” Phil’s low-toned voice reverberated throughout the room.

“Do you remember the other day when you slept over and asked me if anything was wrong?” Dan started, closing his eyes to he could focus on remembering all he had planned to disclose on this first leap.

“Yeah.”

“And how I said nothing was wrong, but something was right?” Large spaces fell in between each phrase and Dan could feel his heart pounding in his ears.

“Yeah, I remember.” Phil didn’t ask anything about it, which helped Dan’s process along.

“I want to let you know that I-” he took a breath. “-am not in a… necessarily _good_ mental state.” Phil opened his mouth to reply, but Dan cut him off. “And I trust you. I told myself not to but I do. So I needed to tell you.” Dan bit down on the inside of his cheek, awaiting a response. He felt nauseous, clenching his eyes closed and balling his hands into fists, pressing them into his stomach.

Phil remained quiet for awhile, unintentionally leaving Dan to suffer while waiting for Phil to just say _anything_.

“I’m glad you trust me enough to let me know.” Phil eventually spoke, “I’m really… fond of you and this doesn’t affect that at all.”

On that occasion, Dan determined that Phil embodied a breath of cool air – a rush of relief.

* * *

 

_**I PONDER OF SOMETHING TERRIFYING** _

__

Things got easier as they went on. Each time, Dan revealed more, every little piece feeling like a ton of weight off his shoulders. Phil always knew what to say to reassure Dan that he wasn’t going anywhere.

But there were still some things that Dan couldn’t bring himself to confess:

  1. The dream; that one dream that, even then, months and months after its occurrence, persisted in Dan’s thoughts.
  2. His crying spells; he found too intense embarrassment from their frequent appearances to even possibly mention of them to Phil.
  3. Simply, the extent of his self-loathing; sure, Phil knew Dan didn’t like himself. He didn’t know that Dan was convinced Phil was the only person that liked him at all (which he still sometimes found debatable).



In a way, Dan looked at this as a gradual way of overcoming his anxiety. He figured even if he had a few secrets, he could get through it. He tried to tell himself that anxiety was a phase, not a permanent thing, no matter how true he really believed that statement to be. _Everybody has secrets, right?_

And one night, as the two sat in the soft ambiance of the changing light of Dan’s room, Dan ran out of things to say. He didn’t want to disclose any more, and that thought suddenly made him feel very queasy. For once in his life, he was practically an open book to someone. He wasn’t sure he liked it.

He began to breathe heavily, sitting up in the bed. He didn’t really feel like he was connected to his body; he needed an anchor to reality. He pressed a palm to his chest, ordering himself to calm down before Phil could notice, but it had already been too late.

“Dan?” Phil brought one fist up to his eye to rub it, sitting up and facing towards Dan. “Are you okay?”

“Hm,” Dan choked. “Yeah. I’m good.”

“ _Dan_.”

Moments passed; Dan could hear his own breathing but he could not feel it. 

“Can you kiss… me?” Dan whispered, removing his hand from his chest.

“I–”

“Please.”

“Are you sure?”

Dan brought one hand up to cup Phil’s jaw while the other reached around to the base of his neck, pulling Phil closer.

“Is this okay?” Dan whispered; they were close enough that they could feel each other’s breath on their lips.

“Yeah,“ Phil murmured, scanning Dan’s eyes in the dim light.

It took one breath for Dan to tilt his head to where his nose wouldn’t bump with Phil’s, but his breath hitched when he saw Phil’s eyes flutter closed. He followed suit, allowing Phil’s usually subtle hint of vanilla fragrance to swallow his senses. He took a final breath before his lips met Phil’s, momentarily washing away all of his toxic thoughts and feelings.

They pulled away a moment later, each examining the other’s face, eyes flickering down to lips. Dan slid his hand up from Phil’s jawbone and into the hair behind his ear before easing him back and reconnecting their lips. Phil’s fingertips glided down Dan’s back and slightly underneath his shirt at his hip bones as Phil opened his mouth, allowing Dan to breathe the air out of his lungs.

Their teeth clinked together, causing Phil to back away briefly with a smile on his face. Dan leaned forward to meet Phil again, eager to bury himself in Phil’s kiss.

After a few moments, Dan angled Phil’s head so that he could connect his lips to Phil’s pale neck. He left a trail of hot kisses down to and along Phil’s collarbone, completely enveloped in the way Phil’s breathing became ragged.

When Dan was satisfied with his work on Phil’s neck, he lifted his head back up to fleetingly join their lips again. When he withdrew, he sighed, “Thank you.”

“What’re you thanking me for?” Phil raised his hand to Dan’s cheek and stroked his thumb against Dan’s swollen lower lip.

“I don’t know,” Dan lied.

* * *

That wasn’t the last time the two kissed. Actually, it was the beginning of something bigger, something in which Dan wasn’t sure he could commit. He wanted to – oh, did he want to – always have Phil to hold. Phil, perhaps unintentionally, attained Dan’s heart all at once, and he wouldn’t give it back (not that Dan wanted him to).

And Dan held Phil’s heart – “Metaphorically; we’d have a problem if you were literally holding my heart,” he’d been told by Phil, which caused Dan to go quiet for the rest of the day. Anyway, he had Phil’s affection, though he couldn’t ever understand _why_. He could easily pinpoint millions of reasons to love Phil – his horrible jokes, the way he looks at Dan when he’s worried, his kisses, for a few examples – and only one reason not to love him.

That reason wasn’t even Phil’s fault. The damned dream had been coming in waves, sometimes literally causing Dan to black out because of the vivid abruptness of the whole thing. While the flashes had subdued earlier, they managed to return full-force, if not worse.

Dan considered telling Phil about the dream, but decided that would be a bad idea. He already burdened Phil with all of his mental problems; there was no reason to add anything else. So, he kept quiet.

Number two on his list that he vowed not to disclose (the crying spells), however, spilled late one evening by text message.

To: Dan

From: Phil

- _Didn’t get to see you much today_

Dan hadn’t seen the message from Phil until another one came through an hour later.

To: Dan

From: Phil

– _How was your day?_

Dan declined answering; he didn’t want to bother Phil with this. He didn’t know that not replying would worry Phil just as much, but when his phone buzzed again another hour later, he wasn’t in the least bit surprised to see Phil had sent the message.

To: Dan

From: Phil

– _Are you okay?_

To: Phil

From: Dan

_– no_

To: Dan

From: Phil

_– Just wait. I’m coming over_

To: Phil

From: Dan

_– please dont_

To: Phil

From: Dan

_– i,m fine i promise_

To: Phil

From: Dan

_– you can stay home_

To: Phil

From: Dan

_– im okay_

Phil arrived soon thereafter, let into the house by Dan’s mother. (“What’s going on?” she’d asked, but Phil just smiled at her and said “Nothing to worry about, Mrs. Howell.” [Secretly, Phil disliked Dan’s parents because of their lack of interest in Dan’s life.])

Lightly tapping on Dan’s closed door before opening it and peering inside, Phil saw Dan curled into a ball on the floor next to his bed, his phone lying face down a few feet away from him.

“I told you not to come.” Dan didn’t even look up before he spoke.

“I don’t care,” Phil responded, taking a seat next to Dan on the floor. “Is it okay if I touch you?” Dan nodded slowly, so Phil looped an arm around his shaking shoulders.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Phil pressed softly, to which Dan shook his head. “Alright, that’s okay.”

Phil began subtly rocking himself and Dan, just sitting with Dan to keep him company. He didn’t want him to face this alone, but he didn’t know this was a regular thing.

After Dan had noticeably slowed in shaking, Phil asked, “Do you want me to talk to you?”

Dan nodded, “Yeah.”

“Right. So, I don’t really understand what you’re going through. And you know that. But I want you to feel better and I know you want to feel better, too. It’s not easy, but there are things that we can do. Well, really, there’s two: peace and fear. No matter what, peace will win and fear will lose.” Phil paused, positioning his hand between Dan’s shoulder blades, tracing small circles. “See, there’s faith and there’s sleep. Faith in you is what I have, and I know it’s hard – I _know_ – but you have to have faith in yourself.”

“I can’t.”

“You can. I know it. You can’t sleep on all of these things, you have to have faith that you will overcome them. Faith is being _alive_.”

Dan thought about that night a lot. Probably more than he should have. What did Phil mean; _Faith is being alive?_

Would that mean sleeping was dying? That’s how Dan felt. He felt like he was slowly sleeping his life away, dying while still somehow being conscious. He kept this inside. For Phil, he would try to have faith. For Phil, he would try to be alive.

* * *

And Dan really did try. He tried for months, but it was never sincere.

He started to actually _have_ the dream, then. Every night when he would close his eyes, he would take Phil’s life. He couldn’t let Phil know this; he couldn’t lose Phil; he couldn’t have dreams affect reality. But that seemed not his choice.

Each night Phil stayed over led to the same thing, but Dan couldn’t tell. He couldn’t tell Phil that whenever Phil kissed his neck, in the blank ecstasy all Dan could think of was the murderous dream and the way Phil’s lips felt like they were burning into his skin for revenge.

He couldn’t tell. He couldn’t tell anyone; he had to keep it to himself. He had to be silent. He couldn’t reveal to anyone what he dreamt, even if he knew he really would never do anything such. _Don’t let on,_ Dan would order himself, _or he’ll leave_. _You’re crazy. You’re crazy. You’re crazy. But he doesn’t have to know._

As it turned out, despite Dan’s attempts to keep his dream undercover, it’s hard to keep nightmares from someone when they share a bed with you.

Dan had shot up with a scream and in a cold sweat, which woke Phil up next to him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, f–”

“Dan?”

“I don’t want to _kill_ you!” Dan yelled, raking his fingers through his hair.

“Hey, settle down. It’s okay.”

“I don’t want to do it! Why do I do it?”

“Dan, I’m here. You’re okay. Can I touch you?”

Dan didn’t respond to anything Phil tried to communicate, “Please stay away from me! I’m _crazy_! Crazy, Phil, I’m crazy!”

“No, Dan. You’re not crazy. Please calm down. Can I touch you?” Phil asked again.

“Don’t touch me! Get _away_ from me! I’m crazy!”

“Hey, look at me.” Phil tried to position himself where Dan could see him.

“Phil, I said to get away! I don’t want to hurt you!”

“You’re not going to hurt me, I know that. Come here–”

“Stay away!” Dan yelped.

“Okay. Okay. I’m staying away.” Phil looked up to see Dan’s mum standing at the threshold of the room with a horrified expression.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Dan suddenly lowered his voice to a murmur upon seeing his mother at the door. “Please take him away from me,” he said to her.

Phil stood up and walked away from the bed, towards Dan’s mother. “I think he had a bad dream. I tried to calm him down but–”

“I heard yelling and I ran here,” she explained. “This is really unusual for him…”

The two of them walked a little ways down the hall so that Dan couldn’t hear them anymore, though one returned moments later.

“Dan?” his mother lightly wrapped her knuckles on the door. “I’ve sent Phil to sleep on the couch. Is that what you want?”

“I want him to stay away from me,” Dan rubbed his eyes. “I want him safe.”

Regardless of how Dan explained it, his mother could not comprehend why Dan would think Phil could be unsafe. She tried to reason with him, but nothing he said made any sense to her and vise versa. So, she sat next to him on the bed and kissed his forehead, wrapping him into an embrace.

“I love you, Dan.”

 _You wouldn't if you knew_ , Dan thought to himself. 

* * *

 

_**I PONDER OF SOMETHING GREAT** _

__

“Dan, people who come here have a lot of courage. It takes a lot to come in and try to get better. And you know yourself better than anyone else – better than your mum knows you, better than your classmates know you – so, in your mind, what brings you here?”

Right. Dan had been signed up for therapy, on account of his mother. While he was not completely head-over-heels for the idea, he _was_ willing to try anything that would make him comfortable around Phil again.

It’d been a week since _The Night of Confrontation_ , which Dan had aptly named it. It’d been a week since he’d spoken with Phil, but that was his own doing. He told Phil that following morning that he should probably leave, sever contact and find a better cause. Of course, Phil hadn’t been willing to comply in the least, but Dan forced him – “I’m toxic to you. Please, do me a favour and find something better than this. I love you Phil, I really do. But please, don’t let me rely on you. I need to find my way on my own. I need to have _faith_ in myself.” Phil gave a sad smile at that, and replied, “Let me know when you’ve found your way. I’ll be waiting.”

“Anxiety.” Dan answered the therapist’s question.

“Anything else?”

“Nightmares.”

“What kind of nightmares?”

Dan took a deep breath, “The same one, reoccurring.”

By the end of the session, Dan was feeling more uncomfortable than helped, but he had guessed that’d happen. He tried to remind himself that Phil was waiting – or maybe he really wasn’t – but that possibility in itself managed to get Dan into the cozy orange room with the small plants on the windowsill and all of those questions.

And at the end of the day, instead of repeating harsh, hateful words to himself in the silence late at night like he always had done, one phrase echoed in the dark.

_Peace will win and fear will lose._


End file.
